


my mouth is wide open (ready to explore)

by sublime_jumbles



Category: Pushing Daisies
Genre: (kinda), Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Chubby Kink, F/M, Feeding, Feeding Kink, Hand Feeding, Overeating, Sexual Content, Stuffing, Touching by Proxy, Weight Gain, alcohol cw, chubby!Ned, chubby!kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:59:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3194519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sublime_jumbles/pseuds/sublime_jumbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Hi there,” she said. “Everything okay?”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Yeah,” he said, shifting his weight as his stomach whined. “The freezer downstairs broke and I just, um. Thought you might be interested in giving me a hand taking care of some ice cream.” </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Ooh, sounds like fun,” she said, and he could hear her smile. “I’ll be right over. Should I … get dressed?”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He swallowed. “Um, yeah. That would be good.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	my mouth is wide open (ready to explore)

**Author's Note:**

> for sushidoucheydudes on tumblr!
> 
> title from "wow and flutter" by april smith and the great picture show.

Papen County had always been subject to rolling power blackouts in the summers, when the heat rose off the streets in waves that Olive Snook swore she’d once succeeded in frying eggs on. 

On this particular summer night, although the heat was, indeed, fried-egg-worthy, a rolling blackout was not the culprit of the imminent electrical failure. The Pie Hole’s industrial freezer broke down all on its own, as Ned was finishing the last of his cleaning and organizational rituals before retiring to his apartment for the night. He’d reached into its icy depths to retrieve some dough to thaw for the next morning, and found it considerably less icy than it should have been.

Cursing quietly to himself and knowing that a repairperson would not be available until at least the next morning, he piled as many items as possible into the restaurant’s refrigerator instead, and loaded the rest into his arms to cart upstairs to his own freezer, and eyed the remaining item, a gallon drum of vanilla ice cream, thoughtfully. There was no way he’d fit it in his own freezer, and it would be a waste to throw it away.

He made a separate trip back down for it once he’d taken care of the rest of the freezer’s contents, and pried off the lid. He’d shut off the air conditioning in the restaurant, and he could feel himself sweating through the back of his T-shirt. Switching on the TV he kept in the corner of the kitchen, he took a spoon from the silverware bins and settled onto a stool.  

_Because it would melt anyway_ , he rationalized. Olive was already in bed, Emerson long gone, and Chuck – well, Chuck wouldn’t be interested in eating it herself. Not all of it, anyway. _And besides, it’s so hot_...

He slurped melting ice cream until he was nearly full, until he could feel it sloshing in his stomach, then let out a thick belch. He swayed a little as he stood up, flicking off the TV. He hiccupped once, twice, rubbed at the ache beginning in his gut, and took the elevator back upstairs, ice cream tub in hand.

He set the container on the counter and surrounded it with some of the cold packs he kept in the freezer, then called Chuck.

“Hi there,” she said. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, shifting his weight as his stomach whined. “The freezer downstairs broke and I just, um. Thought you might be interested in giving me a hand taking care of some ice cream.”

“Ooh, sounds like fun,” she said, and he could hear her smile. “I’ll be right over. Should I … get dressed?”

He swallowed. “Um, yeah. That would be good.”

He opened a beer while he waited for her; the remains of a six-pack had been displaced when he rearranged the fridge, and he might as well have some while it was still cold. Besides, he liked the fullness the ice cream created in his belly, and he wanted to push himself a little further before Chuck got there.

He was slugging it down in gulps when she let herself in with the spare key, pet Digby hello, and perched on the kitchen counter, swinging her legs.

“You must have been a hit at college parties,” she said once he was finished.

He smiled wryly. “I never got invited to parties. Shy and self-conscious and awkward was not exactly a recipe for popularity. And being thirty pounds overweight didn’t help either.”

“You were overweight in college?” she asked, incredulous. “You weren’t a beanpole until you met me?”

“I didn’t have any friends to help eat my assignments like the other kids did,” he said. “I had to eat them all myself.”

“Poor you,” she said, grabbing one of his wire whisks out of the jar by the window and reaching over to gently poke his belly. She was wearing her opera gloves already, arms covered in black satin up to her elbows, and beneath her gauzy nightgown, she wore a pair of sheer nylons, her go-to cover-up when there existed the potential for a situation with a lot of touching. “Speaking of which, Olive paid me an interesting compliment earlier.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I was working on those new blackberry-orange cup pies because they’re not just right yet, I don’t think, and she came over to taste the filling. And she said, ‘You know, I wondered about your baking chops when you first showed up, but you know how I know you’re good at what you do? A few months with Ned, and he’s plumper than a fruit pie in summer.’”

Ned smiled. “Not to discredit your capabilities, but I think Olive’s helped a little too. All those mac and cheese casseroles she sends over for us to try.”

No one had acknowledged the weight point-blank when it began to creep on, but now that it had been there a while, now that it was clear that it wasn’t going anywhere, the others were more prone to making good-natured jabs about it. Olive served him Chuck’s unsolds when he was meeting with Emerson after closing and teased him gently about his appetite – “I know you got room for more than one of those adorable measly cup pies.” Emerson’s digs – “Sampling too many of your own goods, Pie Boy?” – were less gentle, but Ned had learned to throw them back, albeit clumsily at first. And Chuck’s affectionate tweaks and pokes at his belly and hips, fingers like friendly calipers, made Ned wonder why he had waited so long to let this happen. He was so much more comfortable like this, soft and convex, and the friendly way the gibes were tossed among all four of them made him feel, in a strange way, even more at ease with himself. 

It had bothered him, at first, when his elderly customers noticed that he was getting a little chubby, when they pinched his fuller cheeks or pointed out the jelly roll around his waist. “Look at you!” they’d said. “All filled out and grown-up.” It wasn’t polite, he had remarked to Chuck, to call attention to someone’s weight like that. But Chuck had pointed out how they always smiled when they did so, were always kind about it. “You look healthy,” she’d said. “That’s what they mean. You’re not little-boy-skinny anymore. You look happy, and they’re happy to see you that way.”

“The mac and cheese does help,” Chuck agreed now. “But it’s a little hot out for that tonight, I think.”

“I think you’re right,” he said, taking a long-handled spoon out of the drawer near the sink. “I got a little head start already – it wasn’t full, but there was, you know. Enough. Maybe a little more than half?”

Chuck’s eyes got wide, and she took the spoon from him, pulling the ice cream to her. She dug out a chunk and held it out to him. “Think you can finish this?”

Ned shrugged, licking it off the spoon. “If you help me.”

She fed him another spoonful, and he made an appreciative noise in the back of his throat. His stomach rumbled, and Chuck grinned.

“Hard to fill you up, hm?” She took his hand and pulled him closer, stockinged feet wrapping around his legs. “I like a guy with a big appetite.”

She offered him another spoonful, and he worked the ice cream off slowly. “I want you to fill me up,” he said softly, and Chuck’s legs tightened around his own.

“I can do that,” she said, gouging out a larger spoonful.

They worked through the ice cream quietly, the silence interrupted only by the hum of the window unit and the noises Ned made as he ate, little huffs and groans he’d learned were sure to get Chuck hot. His stomach was starting to get tight, whines and gurgles curling up as he swallowed bite after bite.

He let out an uncomfortable burp as they neared the bottom of the carton. “I think I need to slow down,” he said. “I need to” – another burp, longer – “uhh. Yeah. Slow down.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “Have a glass of water. Give your belly a break.”

He nodded, extracting himself from her legs and getting a glass from the sink. He drank it slowly, feeling each swallow slosh as it hit his stomach. Drawing in deep breaths, he rubbed at his belly with his free hand, trying to remember the places Chuck focused on when she rubbed it for him.

“Come here,” she coaxed from the counter. “I’ll help you with that.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m – _hic_ – okay. I want to finish. Are you … how are you doing?”

She smiled, twirling the spoon between her fingers. “Oh, I’m doing fine. As long as you’re good, I’m good.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Do you want a beer, or anything? They’ll be warm soon, and then they’ll be gross.”

“If you want to get rid of them,” she said, shrugging. “And … I wouldn’t be opposed to watching you chug another one, but only if you feel up to it.”

He pulled two bottles out of the cardboard case and handed one to her by its neck. “I think I’ll be okay.” Maybe a little more alcohol would dull the ache in his belly, he figured.

He gulped it down carefully, trying not to make himself sick, as Chuck watched and took tiny sips of her own. His stomach felt impossibly heavy, and he braced himself on the counter, breathing hard, once he finished.

“Okay?” Chuck asked, laying a gloved hand on his shoulder.

He burped a couple of times before turning back to her. “Yeah. Let’s finish this” – he tapped the ice cream carton – “and then I’m gonna need to lie down.”

“That’s fair,” said Chuck, giving his belly a pat. “We’ll go slow.”

She stroked his hair as she fed him the last few bites, then ran her fingers down from his hairline and over his jaw. “Doing okay?”

He nodded, his swollen belly churning a little under his palm. “Yeah.”

“Let’s get you to bed,” she said, slipping off the counter and maneuvering one of his arms around her waist. “You should have said something if it was too much.”

“No, no,” he said. “I’ll be fine, it’s just - usually we do real food, not ice cream, and it feels different, that’s all. Heavier. But less solid, and more …”

“Liquid?” she supplied, turning on the bedroom light.

“Something like that,” he said, collapsing on his bed and stretching out on his back. He hiccupped again and reached down to rub at the underside of his stomach. “It hurts a little, but it’s the good kind of hurt. Like when you go outside and it’s snowing and it’s frigid and your toes ache but you can’t bring yourself to go back inside.”

“Well, don’t give yourself frostbite on my account,” she said, pulling one of the thinner flannels from his closet to cover her nearly bare shoulders. “Or indigestion.” She adjusted the settings on the window unit, then joined him on the bed, straddling his thighs.

“Hands up,” she instructed, and he laced his hands beneath his pillow. His belly emitted a boozy gurgle as he rolls over, and he let out a soft groan as he settled back.

“Stomach okay?” she asked.

He nodded as she pushed his shirt up over his belly. “Just need a minute or two.”

Her hands were warm and firm against his stomach, and he moaned as she kneaded and pressed. “Good?” she asked, and he nodded again, a soft burp slipping out. She rolled his shirt down and kissed all over his stomach, hands rubbing at his sides, and he gave a little groan of satisfaction.

“You must have been hungry to eat all that,” she went on, skimming the strip of skin just above the waistband of his pants. He huffed out a little noise of surprise, and she smiled. She liked the way he looked like this, cheeks flushed, the way he looked up at her, pupils blown. She saw plenty of sweet, romantic Ned day-to-day, but this whimpering, wanting Ned came out more rarely, and hit a whole new set of her buttons. She suspected it had to do with her caretaking instinct, a mutation thereof that caused her to want him like this, soft and satiated, overfull. She thought of it as a sort of logical yin to the yang of her culinary style of demonstrating love.

But at this moment, the girl named Chuck wasn’t thinking much about anything other than Ned, spread out in front of her, his eyes closed, belly swollen and gurgling.

“You must be so full by now,” she said, rubbing circles into his skin. “Poor thing, look at you, all bloated.” She ghosted her fingers along the inside of his thigh, through the thin fabric of his pants, and he whined a little, low in his throat. 

 “Yes?” she asked, and he nodded, arching his soft hips toward her as much as he could manage. She ran her fingers higher up his thigh, pinching gently, then slid her hand between his legs. He yelped, and she dragged her fingers back down his thigh.

“Tell me how you feel,” she said, pushing his shirt back up and working her hands over his skin. “Tell me where to focus.”

He grunted a little, squirming under her touch. “It’s good, what you’re doing. It, um, it hurts a little less now. My head’s a little fuzzy. Probably because it’s been a long time since I drank two beers like that. And also, I really want to kiss you.”

“I think I can help with that,” Chuck said, grinning. “Take over for me for a minute, I’ll grab the plastic wrap.”

She retrieved it from the kitchen and settled beside him. “This might work better if you sit up,” she suggested, and he obliged, dislodging a burp and pressing his hand to his belly.

“Excuse me,” he murmured, donning the pair of gloves she tossed him before she pressed a sheet of Saran over his mouth. She probed over his lips with her tongue, allowing some slack on the plastic so she’d have more room to explore. He moaned against her, and Chuck fell into the sound, basking in it. Eyes closed, she imagined that she could reach out and cup his jaw in her hand, guide him as his tongue slipped between her teeth. She imagined him kissing her this hungrily in a significantly more southern region, mouth damp against her skin, breath warm and heavy, and she echoed his moan, twice as loud.

When she opened her eyes, Ned was staring back at her through the plastic wrap, eyes wide. “I like when you, uh,” he said, twisting his hands together in his lap. “Moan like that.”

“Yeah?” she said, and he nodded. “Well, I bet you can make me do it again.”

“I bet I can,” he said. “Lie down.”

She settled herself at the head of the bed, spreading her legs so he could kneel between them. He slid a hand between her flannel and her nightgown, fingers finding the tip of her breast. She let out a hum of pleasure, rolling her hips, and her breath caught as she felt him shift position.

Keeping one hand on her breast, he carefully got down on his stomach, propping himself on his free elbow, and pressed his lips to the inside of her nyloned thigh. She gasped as she felt his teeth, gentle enough not to pose the threat of a run but firm enough to send sparks through her nerve endings, nipping at her skin, working his way up to her sweet spot.

It wasn’t quite the same as she imagined through her stockings, but she could feel his warmth, his breath, through the thin material, his mouth giving just enough friction. She cried out, trying not to buck against him, and he pulled back instinctively, groaning a little as the movement jostled his stomach.

“Come back,” she murmured, grabbing for his hair, and then he was looming over her, offering her a sly smile before undoing the topmost button of her flannel and closing his mouth over her nipple through her nightgown.

She yelped, and the noise had him trying to push himself against her, get his body as close to hers as possible –

And then he was wrenching himself away, rolling off her, and she opened her eyes to see him swapping his short-sleeved t-shirt for a long-sleeved one, shaking his head.

“My arm got close to your face,” he said softly, and Chuck’s stomach went cold. “I thought – before we got too into it –”

“Good,” she said, a little shakily. “Good call. Besides” – she cleared her throat, recovering – “I like the way that shirt looks on you.”

He looked down, smoothed the fabric over his belly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said, gesturing him back to her. “It has a nice little dip” – she tapped his navel – “right here.”

He smiled. “Maybe I should get more of these shirts.”

She shrugged, returning the smile. “Or more tummy. Up to you. Now …”

He was already nodding, crawling back on top of her. “Yes. I don’t think we’ve gotten that moan exactly right yet.”

“Very romantic,” she laughed, as his hand found her breast again, and his mouth slipped down between her legs, hot and urgent.

A cry left her mouth as he hit the right amount of friction against her stockings, and she heard him moan in response. She could feel the current of his hips as he pushed them against the mattress, oddly timed against his exhales but in perfect rhythm with her own. Sometimes she thought what got him off most was getting her off, and it was never more evident than listening to him when his head was between her thighs.

As he edged her closer and closer to climax, her cries got louder and louder, and she rolled her hips, desperate to feel more of him. He grunted against her, and she remembered in a flash how much she’d fed him, how he was getting her off despite being almost too stuffed to move, and she clutched at the sheets, gasping his name as she came.

He crawled up to lay his head on her chest as she caught her breath, and she ran a hand through his hair. “That was great,” she murmured, and he kissed her breasts through her nightgown.

“Good.” He shifted a little against her, and she felt the bulge of his erection press against her leg.

“Your turn?” she asked.

He blushed. “Probably won’t take very long.”

She smiled. “Sit up,” she said, moving out of his way and arranging the pillows against the headboard for him. He settled back, and she straddled his legs.

“Mmmm,” she hummed, palming at his belly where it rounded beneath his shirt. “Even when you’re full, you’re still a little soft over here.” She pinched the spot where the side of his muffin top spilled over his waistband. “I wish I could leave little love bites all over it.”

He made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan. “You can pretend.”

“I can,” she agreed, and bent to carefully nip at the soft skin through his shirt. He moaned, grabbing for her hair, and she used her other hand to unzip his pants and work him beneath his boxers.

“Kiss me?” he begged, and she stopped.

“I can’t kiss you and …” She nodded down at the hand in his boxers. “Not at the same time.”

“I know. I know. I can take over here.” He covered her gloved hand with his, and she gave him a final stroke before grabbing the box of plastic wrap off the nightstand.

He kissed her urgently, and she returned his enthusiasm, squeezing and rubbing his stomach as he got himself off. He was right – it didn’t take more than a few minutes, and by the time he was finished, Chuck thought she might have left several bruises through his shirt anyway.

“Good?” she asked, and he nodded, panting. He hiccupped, belatedly covering his mouth, and Chuck kissed his forehead through her sheet of plastic wrap.

“I like the sounds you make when you’re like this,” she said, jiggling his belly gently. “The moans and the burps and the hiccups and the little noises your tummy makes. It’s cute.”

He smiled. “Just cute? It seemed like you found it a lot more than cute half an hour ago.”

“Sometimes it’s hot,” she admitted, biting her lip. “Sometimes it’s really hot.”

He rubbed his belly himself, cocking his head as if searching for results. “Did you finish that beer?” he asked, and Chuck’s mind, just making the shift from arousal back to normal, rerouted itself.

“Nope,” she said, her insides warming. “I got a little distracted.”

He grinned at her. “I think I have a little treat for you, then.”


End file.
